The Day the Music Died

Author’s Notes: AU fics seem to be popular with this particular series, but here’s another one. This is one takes place in the windy city during the Prohibition. It’s inspired from episodes 24 and 25 of the anime series (“Enter Sango the Demon Slayer!” and “Naraku’s Insidious Plot!”), but consider it an extremely loose re-stylization at best.

This fic is dedicated to inuyashagirlslp1331 who inspired me through her own fic: Siren’s Song.

Chapter 1: Struck Smitten

It was one of those cold nights where fall and winter exchange nods as one clocks out and the other punches in for the next few months. The wind threatens to blow a chill through your body unlike any other that you’ve felt, forcing you to scuffle faster to your destination. A light clap whispered in the distance. Sounds like it might be a thunderstorm tonight. That would certainly put a damper on my evening. But considering my destination, even a hurricane would not be able to wipe the smirk on my face that was pictured in the back of my mind.

Who am I? The name’s Miroku. I’m a private investigator which means my cases don’t come from the fuzz like the usual blue-jacket lot. They come from folks who seem that the law just isn’t doing its job correctly and feel like taking things into their own hands…by hiring me. On occasion I get a couple of really good cases. Wife murders her husband, cousin embezzling inheritance funds from his grandmother, boss frames an ex co-worker. But usually I just get the most random shit cases that the police just don’t want to bother with. “I lost my pet cat, Snowball,” or “A burglar stole the pocket watch that belonged to my dad.” Most of these cases are effortless to close, but you’d be surprised how many of them are willing to pay obscene amounts of money to get their worthless sentimental trinkets back. The best part about it is that most of these obscenely rich folk are women. Hot, sexy, gorgeous women!

Ah, I love my job. And to think just a few years ago I was living the life of a pauper priest. Ha! No more of those days. Although it’s great when I tell the ladies of my previous “employment.” You’d be surprised how many of them are into clergymen. When they ask why I went from a priest to a private eye, I tell them it’s because I finally figured out my calling in life. The truth is that I was caught “praying” to a newly recruited sister in the broom closet. I don’t regret it, though. To me it was more of a sin to be wasteful of her God-given…assets.

But getting back on track to the here and now of things: I approached an old shambled building that hadn’t any signs or lights to be labeled. No cars were parked along the sidewalk, and to the common eye it looked vacant and uninviting at best. But in these parts of town nothing was ever what it appeared to be. I traveled across the sidewalk and into the dark alleyway where the feral cats were howling every chance they got. One flew over my feet and nearly tried to off me had I tripped or been startled by it. Being here enough times before, you get used to the little furballs attempting to murder you with their accurately timed dashes. When I approached the side door of the desolate building there was still no sight or sound of life to the place; just cold, dirty steel that separated you from the unknown. Two raps on the door, followed by a one second pause, then three more raps before you wait a while. Sometimes it’s instant, other times you’re left out there for a good several minutes. But the wait is greeted by a little tiny door hole at the top and a set of brutal eyes staring you down from three feet above.

“What.” the tenor voice boomed at me. Sometimes you often wonder why they don’t just shove a gun through the hole to get the point across that you weren’t wanted. A Tommy felt less intimidating than this guy.

“I’m here for the Bible Study that Agatha wanted me to attend,” I reply, bemused by the statement I was meant to memorize. Oh, the irony.

The peephole shuts with a metal clap, and a few moments later you hear the clomping and shifting of the hundred lock giant steel door release its impenetrable grip and slowly creek open. As I made my way into the darkness, I just barely catch a glimpse of the seven-foot monster of a man looming behind the infamous gate. To me he resembled a gorilla, with his massive hand vice-hooked to the top of the door. I always mill away in the back of my mind that if I misbehave, this bouncer could fold me like origami and make a light appetizer on his plate. This is probably the best method of check-and-balance I’ve seen since I have to frequently remind my wandering hands to play it smart whenever I’m here. He finally shuts the door, and for a moment I pray to God as I’m in complete darkness and can only hope that the bouncer doesn’t pitch to the “same team” if you get my drift. But while my eyes have yet to adjust to the bleak situation, I feel the presence of his massive body saunter past me. Eventually the chipper creaking of a smaller door opens up, letting artificial light pour into the tiny limbo closet between the outside world and this one. Within the bowels of a forgotten building lives one of the most popular speakeasies this side of Chicago has ever known: Angelo’s.

My senses are always overwhelmed by this place. The combination of sights and sounds mix like a miasma of sensations that often make me feel woozy and giddy all at the same time. It’s pretty busy tonight for a Thursday. The family that owns this place is in full force with the usual lanky boy, Kohaku, as one of the main waiters. The bouncer shuts the door behind me since he’ll be manning the door the rest of the night while we patrons play to the sins of our basest desires. I may be a P.I., but I’ve got needs too, and who’s the government to deny me of my pleasures? But I don’t just come here for the luxury of dabbling in a bit of vice. I’m here for another purpose that hovers pretty high on my priority list.

“Ah, Tanaka,” the boy greets me with a smirk, “Care for something to drink?” Kohaku’s a nice kid at least. He takes my hat and jacket while he jots down my order for an ‘ice water’ and then sends my stuff to the back closet. Currently there’s a piano player and a saxophonist luring out a smooth tune of rhythm and blues to the rest of us. As I make myself comfortable I take a subtle look around to find a few of the usual customers. Over in the far right, Koga “The Bullet” was sitting with his gang. Over to the left playing some poker with his crew was Ban “Big Blade” kotsu from the Seven Assassins gang. It’s amazing that the two were in the same room together and not trying to size each other up yet. Otherwise there weren’t too many others that I had seen on a regular basis.

The boy came around quickly with my ice water, which was just Gin and Tonic on the rocks. You can’t exactly go around directly blurting out your actual drink order’s name, so you have to learn the hard way by simply ordering something common and figuring out what it really was on your own. Sometimes I scored lucky on the drinks. Other times I’d rather not relive again. The speakeasies are the best place not only for booze, but for information as well. Chances are you’ll find a handful of interesting individuals that don’t exactly oblige to the laws if you get what I’m saying. Whenever I do my investigating, I usually always start at Angelo’s to see if there’s any underground whisperings I could catch. Lost items aren’t always on the gossip list, but I’ve solved a few sneaky murders with the help of some cash bribes and a few good games of poker. Information flows freely here as long as you know the currency and mannerisms in which to request it. I play the part so that I can get what I want out of these criminals. You don’t go parading around the fact that you’re an investigator. That’s just asking for trouble.

Enough drabbling on about my surroundings for the moment. The musicians are still at it, and I tend to tune them out until the real show begins. Trust me, you don’t want to miss it. I never do.

The reason why I came tonight was because of a combination of things involving one particular unsavory jackass by the name of “Nine Lives” Naraku. Why the ridiculous nicknames for these guys? It’s what they call themselves. More like it’s what gangsters code-name each other. Usually the title is given to you based on your most infamous trait. In Nine Lives’ case, he went up the ranks by making a deal with one of the Cappo di Crimini (or Italian mob boss for your personal translation service) to get his own little mini gang to rise to power. To make a long story short, the guy’s influence expanded faster than baking soda and vinegar and eventually he whacked his mob boss with a bullet to the brain. A lot of folks weren’t too happy with this new prick rocketing up the corporate gangster ladder and kept trying to off him every chance they got. Many appeared to succeed, with eye witnesses to back up their claims. But eventually Nine Lives came back from the dead, so-to-speak, and would make a nice public example for those who didn’t get the message not to fuck with him. So the term ‘Nine Lives’ came from the fact that you can kill the guy over and over again and he keeps coming back like a cat with nine lives. It keeps the heat off their backs when they’re using nicknames rather than their real ones. Anyway…man, they made my drink pretty strong tonight. Hope I can walk home in one piece.

So several years ago my father died from a fatal incident involving a hurricane and lighter. It’s best not to ask about the details on that story, but there’s one thing him and I have in common: a huge hole on our right hand. For the longest time I didn’t understand why my father had an enormous hole through his hand. He doesn’t like talking about certain things to me; just kind of said “I hope you don’t come to find that out through first hand experience.” He was a man of many puns, but I wish the blithering asshole had told me the truth back then when I was still young and naïve. My first case when I moved to the windy city involved an encounter with a- …umm…well…I was escorting a lady of lower mannerisms. She said something about a ring and a dress. Or was it a horse? Gosh, the only thing I can remember from that conversation was her beautiful bouncing breasts. I’m sure they spoke of something important too, but I’m a bit fuzzy on the details at the moment. Eventually I ended up in a scuffle with some guy, and in the middle of the battle I hear a gunshot go off and saw chunks of my hand go flying. I come to find out that the guy I was fighting with was none other than Nine Lives, and the bouncing bosoms were in on the trap. Since then I’ve decided to dedicate my time hunting Nine Lives down in hopes that I can return the favor of always having to wear a glove on my right hand. It’s been hell on my love life. You’d be freaked out too if the man you were planning on giving a good fuck had huge hold in one of his fists. But my luck turned around a little recently with a couple of stray-

“Refill on the ice water, Tanaka?” Kohaku just chimed in on my monologue. Oh well, let him take my glass for a bit. The performers are ending their set so it looks like she’s going next. The man that gets up to introduce the only female performer in the house is her father. The kid Kohaku happens to be her brother, or so I’m told.

“And now, gentlemen, may I introduce to you the sweet seductress of the nighttime tunes. Lady Sango!” Naturally the house is roaring with whistles and claps. I always play it cooler than the rest of these obnoxious louts.

“Uh, Sir! You’ll break the table if you pound any harder!”

Crap.

Er, pounding on the table a little is another way of showing appreciation for your performer. Just so you know.

The lights turn down low and with it dulled the boisterous noises of men that had only one thing on their mind at the moment. The stage was black and all had gone silent with the exception of the clicking of heels on wood flooring. A couple of whistles called out to this sexy sound. It wasn’t long until they were treated to a soft, silky voice that enticed them in A Capella. Her tune was like velvet as her lips gently breathed into the microphone, “I’ve been a bad…baaaaad…………….girl.” By her last note, the band started up a sultry and slow rhythm and blues song while a spotlight kissed her features as it opened up the shutter to focus her on the crowd. Everyone had gone into a fit of whistles by now while they drank in her voluptuous body. In a world where the fifteen-year old, flat-chest girl in a flapper outfit was the rage of the ended decade, it was nice to see an actual woman for once. Not that I’m any less appreciative of the innocence of a younger maiden or anything, there’s just more to grab onto with a bustier broad.

As the pianist played a mean riff along the keys, Sango eyed the room carefully while bringing a gloved hand up on the microphone. Her fingers delicately grasping the instrument all the while I was mulling over what it would be like to have her grip me in that manner. The song led into her first verse which was simply a repeat of the first line. In her sexy tone again she sang, “I’ve been a bad, baaaad…girl,” but was then added, “I’ve been careless with a delicate man.” The way she was singing it could make your heart melt while she took time to make eye contact with just about every gangster in the room. Taking the instrument from the stand, she stepped over to the left with a graceful lean of sorts. Her dress, which hugged her every curve, glided by with the buxom beauty as she made her way to the short set of stairs that were constructed along the humbled stage. For a moment she paused in her walk and looked over to where I was sitting, “And it’s a sad, saaaaad world…” she bemoaned with her raunchy notes. It didn’t take much before I could feel every inch of my body tingle as she sang to me, “When a girl can break a boy just because she can.”

The words themselves were so naughty that I couldn’t help but think ungentlemanly thoughts of her. Never mind the fact that the song itself is about eight decades too early to our current plotted timeline. At this point Kohaku slipped me a note upon a napkin. I thought it was a sign to wipe the drool off my face, or a gesture towards something else (if you don’t understand what I mean by that, then I’ll tell you when you’re older). However, he stopped me real quick with a smack on my wrist before waiting over at the next table. I looked at the napkin and on it was a note scrawling that said:

“Fan fic authors don’t pay too much attention to details. In this case, Elvy’s blatantly ignoring the principle rule of ‘Time’ in regards to song selection.”

Oh. That makes sense. Guess that would attest for the extremely slinky Jessica Rabbit dress Sango was wearing for this time period then. As Kohaku passed by with a tray of empty glasses he drops another napkin on my table. God damn, what’s up with the stupid note napkins?

“She was thinking more along the lines of a Dick Tracy movie.”

“Oh good grief,” I muttered, as I am now having a psychic monologue between myself, the waiter, and the author that seems to be typing up this whole story in my brain. Thank the lord my attention was suddenly taken away from my insane inner napkin ramblings as a long arm wrapped itself around my neck, and I could soon feel the firm curvature of my beloved lady seating herself in my lap for a quick verse of, “Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done.” During times like these is usually when my brain shuts off and my hands go wandering on their own accord. It’s an affliction, really. I simply can’t control what they do, and before you know it they’re usually getting a nice squeeze of the poor unsuspecting maiden that’s closest to me. Some people label that as being a ‘pervert’. What an awful, vile word for someone who is simply being appreciative of what God made for men to worship. I prefer a more appropriate title such as a Connoisseur of the Female Anatomy.

Call it what you will, I think my intentions were misinterpreted by the Lady Sango. The look in her eyes that she flashed to me would have sent a Doberman running in fear. But she handled herself in a very professional manner, keeping her tone in check while a free hand reached out across my table and grabbed something. Perhaps it was a pen to write her phone number do-… HOLY MARY MOTHER OF JESUS THAT’S COLD! I flew back in my chair, with an assisted push from our vindictive lead siren, as the ‘ice water’ went through my clothes and gave my second brain the cruelest cold shock of a lifetime. A satisfied smile was the only thing Sango walked away with as she moved back towards the stage with gusto in her singing, “Oh help me, but don’t tell me to deny it!” Bawls of laughter echoed around me as they forced me up and forward in my seat. The table socked me in the stomach as the hap-hazard attempt to sit back up took the wind out of me for a moment. The ruffians sure knew how to kill a mood when a woman openly dismisses a gentleman who had completely pure intentions.

She was a sassy little vixen, and with a proud smile on her face and a strong set of finishing notes to top off the evening, she faded back into the darkness as the spotlight slowly disappeared. The piano softening up its melody as her sweet sighs and musical variation was practically the cherry on top of a whipped cream sundae dessert. Most of us sat in shock and awe at the bird that sang us all into silence. Eventually when the stage had cleared the men rowdily roared back up in appreciation of Sango’s alluring performance for the evening. Half of them would eventually shove on out of Angelo’s so that they could finish off their arousals with a talented prostitute. Mine, however, was still quivering from the cold dowsing it received only a little while ago.

I couldn’t help but sit, hunched over the table, looking a bit disappointed as I fidgeted with the empty glass in hand. Obviously the boy had seen what had happened a little while ago and stopped on by, setting another glass of clear liquid down. This time it literally was just some ice water. Talk about pouring salt on a wound.

“Don’t mind my sister too much,” he replied with hesitant optimism, “She’s got a mean streak with guys who get fresh with her.”

“I wasn’t getting fresh with her,” with defiance in my voice, “I was simply-“

“Attempting to grope my ass a few times?” the familiar voice interjected. At that point the both of us flinched for being caught gossiping about.

“S-Sango!”

The both of us looked over to find that the sexy vixen had returned back into her dapple self with server’s outfit that covered almost every part of her body save the face and hands. It was amazing the transformation that the girl could go through in literally a matter of seconds it seemed. From the buxom beauty to the everyday bar tender, even her hair was pulled back in a conservative bun and the make-up mostly removed. At this point the mobsters didn’t pay much attention to a girl who was so dressed down. Most could hardly believe that she was one in the same person. But I knew, as I never forgot a posterior that I’ve squeezed that I didn’t recognize.

“Kohaku, what did I say about Mr. Tanaka?”

The boy fidgeted nervously as he responded to the question, “Um. Limit him to only one drink or he gets grabby?”

I couldn’t believe this! “Wait a minute! You have a drink limitation on me?”

“I checked with the ‘doctor’ a couple weeks ago. He recommended that to cure your ails of the rare-but-uncontrollable Wandering Hand Syndrome, that we should limit your fluids a bit.” With a proud smirk she cocked her chin up into the air, “It’s the least I can do out of dire concern for one of our most valued patrons, Mr. Tanaka. Don’t you agree, Kohaku?”

Obviously the kid was whipped like a pony, so it was only natural that he would agree to his sister’s direct suggestion. “Traitor,” was the only thing I could muster up before the boy took it as a sign to flee while he still could. Sango sighed with disgust as she took an empty tray nearby and began picking up some of the mess I left on the table. For a moment she took a pause and blinked at one of the napkins with the little ‘love note’ from our infamous author.

“That explains my cheeky get-up,” she muttered, crunching the napkin and stuffing it in her pocket, “Damn fan fic writers always taking ‘creative liberties’ in copy written material.” Pulling out a wet cloth, she began wiping down my table, and at this point I figured I’d pull the ace secret from my sleeve that made this little joint special to me.

“So I hear that a certain cat recently came to town looking for something valuable?” I muttered in low, almost incoherently. Sango’s hand motions paused briefly to change direction, “There are cats all over the place looking for something valuable...that mainly being food, Mr. Tanaka.”

“Yes, but this one’s looking for a ‘jeweled fish’ of sorts. One that would certainly be the prized fish to all of the other cats? Was wondering if you’ve seen the cat around lately?”

“And who would be asking for him?”

“Let’s just say there’s an animal catcher looking for the stray,” I figured I’d take a gracious swig of water to sober up a bit. Heaven forbid if a copper pulled me to the side and saw that I wasn’t in my right mind.

“From what I hear the cat’s a bit rabid. Doubt an animal catcher could remove the pest so easily,” she finally finished up my table and stole the drink from my hand before turning to go.

“Hey!” was the only exclamation I could muster before she replied back, “It comes begging for meals tomorrow evening. Perhaps you’ll find it then.” Afterwards I was completely ditched, with no one but the bouncer to give me a hearty welcome and an escort out of the establishment. I took my coat and hat graciously from the gorilla man before managing a way to walk without looking like a penguin that peed its pants. While I went through the dark portal in reverse, the information processed through my mind over and over again. Tomorrow night would be the time to come around.

It would be fifteen past one in the morning when I would return home to my unkempt apartment. The trek back was most undesirable since the rumblings of thunder from earlier in the night delivered a downpour as promised. It had everything you’d come to expect from a late twenty-something bachelor with a career for causing trouble, except my home was slightly pre-occupied with several people. Two of which were passed out on the bed…my bed…but at least one of them was a woman. A dark-haired dame by the name of Kagome, and the kid passed out and curled up next to her went by the name of “Fox Tail” Shippo. Already at ten years old the boy created a name for himself in the gangster underworld as one of the bizarre multi-talented thieves that could wiggle himself in and out of just about any situation.

But these two were peanuts compared to the real pain in the neck that was crashing here. And he responded ungratefully with a, “What took you so long?”

“Obviously your lack of patience fails to realize I was only gone for three hours,” way too little time to spend at a place like that. But I’ll digress for the moment.

“Hmpf!” he scoffed as he finished cleaning his most prized, and ironically the most technologically advanced, gun he pet-named the Tetsuaiga. Don’t ask me why. I’m the last man on the planet that would name his gun, but apparently it’s common among the mobsters these days. “Did you get any information about Nine Lives?”

I flicked my coat and hat onto the worn-out couch and decided to crash into its soft embrace for a moment to collect my thoughts, “Yeah. Looks like the cat will be coming around tomorrow in the mid-evening. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and find a shard of that jewel.”

“Luck won’t have anything to do with it.”

“Glad to see you’re optimistic,” I replied apathetically grabbing my hat again and nuzzling into the couch. Shoving it over my face I figured I’d block out the sunlight for when it’d come blaring through in the morning. What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t give up the only bed to a lady and a child?

“Not gonna try sneaking into your bed again tonight?”

“No, InuYasha. After the royal whipping both you and your girlfriend gave me, I think I’ll stay here for the night.” Or so that’s what I decided to tell him. No use in being straight with him if it’ll cause him to be up all night watching Kagome and eliminating my chance for a woman’s warm bosom to comfort me. The only response he made to my statement was, “She’s not my girlfriend.” I knew better than to believe that tripe.

From this point on I’m supposed to be characteristically clueless about what happens at Angelo’s afterwards. But I’ve got my methods of being able to piece together the bulk of the tale into the next chapter, so just go with me on this, capice?

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External Notes: Song utilized was “Criminal” by Fiona Apple.